


Over the Hills and Far Away

by LasciviousPeach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Canon Universe, M/M, Minor Character Death (Demon), Mutual Pining, Spoilers up to 13 x 23, minor depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-23 09:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16156436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LasciviousPeach/pseuds/LasciviousPeach
Summary: And now, since everything’s gone to shit, the only thing Castiel wants is to see Dean. He wants to confide in him. He wants for Dean to tell him that they’ll figure this out; they have to because they’re Winchesters and they always do.A sensory analysis, from Castiel’s point of view, of Team Free Will (minus Dean) struggling to find a way to save Dean from Michael. Now complete with a follow up chapter from Dean’s perspective.Coda to 13x23, “Let the Good Times Roll”





	1. Castiel

**Author's Note:**

> In one of my Uni classes, we’ve been discussing the importance of senses in historical events, and that got me thinking about SPN (as always) and this is the product that came out. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated and I’d love to know what you think.
> 
> Huge thank you to my amazing beta, zaosa on Tumblr, for looking over this even though she's not in the fandom. A million thanks to you, love. 
> 
> Based loosely on the season 14 promotional video. Title comes from the Led Zeppelin song, of course.

_Smell_

It’s two weeks after Dean says yes to Michael that Castiel finally accepts the fact that he’s gone. Rationally, he knew that Dean wasn’t coming home, but it’s been a long time since rationale has won over anything else.

Castiel’s starts towards Dean’s bedroom, entirely from the reflex to seek him out whenever anything goes wrong, and the motions are so routine that he’s halfway there before he remembers that Dean’s gone. Castiel stands outside the door and prays that Dean will yell at him for barging in as soon as he pushes the door open. He knows that Dean won’t, because he’s not here, but Castiel is hoping that there’s a clue, hint, or sign of some sort that can tell him how to deal with this situation.

Sam and Mary have both been a mess since Michael disappeared wearing Dean’s body. Once again, rational thought was falling in line behind the passionate emotions of rage and fear. Jack was no better. He was worried that waiting any longer would give Michael enough time to make some serious trouble for them, and that they needed to make a move immediately. But how can they make a move when there’s no information to go off of?

These days, it seems as though Castiel is as alone as he’s ever been. He is lonelier than when the angels fell and Dean had all but banished him from the Men of Letters bunker, lonelier than when he was alone and desperately hiding the angel tablet, and lonelier than his time spent alone in Purgatory.

He refuses to give up on Dean, because he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Dean would never give up on him. Castiel has years worth of proof that shows this. He owes it to Dean to do whatever he can to get him out of the mess he cast upon himself. He can’t judge Dean, because the man stood by his side countless times when Castiel was the one dooming himself.

It’s silent as Castiel pushes open the door to Dean’s room and steps inside. The first thing he notices is the smell.

The room smells faintly of Dean’s cologne, fabric softener, and an underlying muskiness that Castiel can’t name. It’s comforting. The cologne is dark and woody with an undertone of citrus. The fabric softener smells sweet and safe. It reminds him of the last time Dean had roped him into helping do their laundry, and Castiel had ended up being the one doing most of the work.

Castiel takes a seat by Dean’s dresser - purposely ignoring the bed - and drags his fingers through his hair. The room smells so much like Dean, a perfect summary of him really, that Castiel feels suffocated. He drops his head into his hands and tries not to let the panic inside him reach the surface.

Ever since Castiel officially ended his relationship with Heaven, Sam and Dean have been his rock. They have been the ones that have stuck beside him and supported him. And now, since everything’s gone to shit, the only thing Castiel wants is to see Dean. He wants to confide in him. He wants for Dean to tell him that they’ll figure this out; they have to because they’re Winchesters and they always do.

But Dean’s not here. Sam, Mary, and Jack are out with Rowena trying to track Michael down with a spell from _The Book of the Damned_ , and Castiel has never been so alone.

 

_Hearing_

Castiel is sitting in the bunker at the table, watching as Sam and Jack run through ideas on how to save Dean. Eventually, the topic turns more gruesome. Jack, running his fingers through his longer hair, sighs, “Michael needs to be stopped.”

Castiel glares sharply at him.“And if that means Dean dies too?” He asks, voice rough from the anger growing in his body.

“Then he dies.”

He can’t believe that after everything Dean had done for him (accepting him, protecting him, saving him from Michael and then Lucifer), Jack was willing to let him die. That Jack would insist, even, that he die. Castiel shoves his chair back from the table, standing up and walking from the room. He’s nearing the kitchen when he hears Sam following close behind him.

“Cas, wait.”

He keeps walking and ends up in the garage. He flicks the lights on as he enters, and the sight of Baby sends a pang through his chest.

Sam had kept Baby looking as clean as Dean would, and Castiel knows it's because Sam is expecting Dean to banish Michael from his body and stroll into the bunker at any moment. He’s glad one of them can still believe that.

He stops in front of the car. Castiel reaches out and drags his fingers across the shiny, black paint. He leans against it and prays for the millionth time that Dean comes home to them.

Castiel knows that God is gone, but the desire to see Dean again outweighs any rational thought he has. He misses Dean like he’s never missed anyone or anything before. He misses Dean more than he missed Heaven, his brothers and sisters, more than he missed his father.

Living here in the bunker, without Dean, is like living without his grace. It’s like he’s missing a vital part of himself. Like when Dean left, he took everything Castiel was with him.

“Cas,” Sam says, long strides finally catching up with him, “You know we’re going to figure this out, right? Mom’s got a lead with the demons. Rowena and Charlie are trying to track Michael, and Jack-”

“Jack thinks Michael needs to die, even if that means that Dean dies.”

Sam’s eyes slant. “I’m not going to let that happen. We’re not going to let anyone hurt him.”

Castiel nods, eyes staying focused on the car in front of him. When he looks at Sam, all he sees is the brother of the man that isn’t here. He sees the pain that’s poorly hidden in those eyes, and he realizes - once again - that this is probably harder for Sam than it is for him. In a way, they’re in the same position. Dean is the one steadfast person they rely on. Sam had grown up with Dean and only Dean for most of his life. Ever since Cas left Heaven all those years ago, Dean’s been the thing anchoring him here.

He allows himself to glance back at Sam when the man’s phone rings. Sam looks down at it, before turning back to Cas, his face apologetic as he tries to stumble out an excuse.

“It’s fine, Sam.” Castiel says, watching as Sam offers him one last apologetic look before he’s walking away.  

He spends a few more minutes looking at Dean’s car before he opens the door, and slides onto the passenger seat. He casts his gaze to the driver’s seat and feels that same longing from before twist painfully in his chest.

Castiel reaches out, and turns the key in the ignition. He listens to the Impala purr to life, and the cassette player clicks on as sound begins to pour out of the speakers. It’s too loud, and Castiel winces before he reaches out to turn it to a more acceptable volume. In all honesty, Cas has never been fond of Dean’s taste in music. He prefers songs that don’t have eight minute guitar solos, but now, there is something soothing about the familiarity of the intense guitar strumming.

He wishes that Dean was here to yell at him for not appreciating Bonham’s drumming enough. It’s the simple things that remind him how much he misses Dean. Cas sighs, and leans back in the seat allowing himself to get lost in Plant’s lyrics.

 

_Touch_

When the overwhelming pain in his chest refuses to let up by month 3, Castiel resorts to his old ways and finds a nice liquor store off Route 281 in Lebanon. He starts with liquor and finishes with beer just like Dean taught him, because he may be an angel but even angels can throw up when mixing their alcoholic drinks. (He found this out the hard way.)

It’s 20 past 3 in the morning when Castiel finally finishes his bender and makes it back to the bunker. He walks down the steps and barely manages to keep himself upright. He hangs onto the railing like it is the only thing keeping him tethered to this planet and, he supposes, it is. The cold press of metal bites into his palms, and Castiel lets the feeling ground him. It’s more annoying than painful and gives him something, besides the spinning room, to concentrate on.

He sees Sam, first, sitting at the table with his head buried in a book. If Castiel’s guess is right the book is about angel possession, and it's the same one they’ve both read about three different times. He feels miserable: half because of the booze that’s seeping out of every pore in his vessel and half because Sam was here trying to find a way to save Dean, and Castiel was out getting plastered.

However, trying to find a way for Dean out of this is exhausting and Castiel can’t pretend that it hasn’t taken a toll on him. But he knows it’s the same for Mary and Sam too. It’s even hard on Jack, who wants to stop Michael no matter what but doesn’t want to see Dean dead either. It’s exhausting because everytime it seems like they’re getting somewhere, something will happen, they’ll start over at square one, and Castiel will realize that they aren’t an inch closer to saving Dean.

Sam hears him and looks up, concern flooding his face as he takes in Castiel’s mused appearance. He sheds his trench coat and drops into the seat across from Sam.

“Hello, Sam.”

“What the- are you drunk?” says Sam as he closes the book, allowing Castiel get a good look of the cover. He was right; it’s the same book. Castiel had spent hours pouring over each and every word only to come up empty handed. He figures it was just as helpful this time.

“I might be.” Castiel replies, lying through his teeth. He knows he’s drunk. He knows he’s been drunk for the better part of the last two hours.

Sam seems a little exasperated by his answer, but not annoyed, and pushes his chair back from the table. The are books and countless other papers strewn about haphazardly, and Cas thinks it’s a perfect metaphor for their search for an answer to the Dean-Michael situation. He wonders, for the hundredth time in the last thirty minutes, if there is anyway possible to fix this.

“Come on, then.” Sam says, reaching out to grab Castiel’s arm and help him stand from the chair. He stumbles a fraction, but lets Sam’s monster length arm wrap around his waist to help him stay steady.   
  
He could sober himself up in a second. He could use his grace to pull the alcohol from his system, but he’s miserable and the soothing numbness of the booze is the least he deserves. He will wake up tomorrow, put on a brave face, and help Sam look for his brother. But, for now, he feels that he deserves a break.

Sam half drag-half pulls Cas down the hallway until he stops in front of a familiar door. He pushes it open, revealing Dean’s bedroom, and walks inside pulling Castiel behind him.

“This is Dean’s room.” Castiel says, his voice coming out more as a gumbled murmur than anything comprehensible.

Sam smiles at him, soft and a little pained, and helps Castiel sit down on the bed. “I know, but he isn’t using it right now.”

“You know I don’t sleep, right?” says Cas, as he runs his fingers along the soft material of Dean’s comforter. He tries to focus on Sam’s monstrous shadow rather than the fact that he’s on Dean’s bed, and fails miserably.

“Then don’t sleep, but please sober up. The last thing we need is people thinking that we’re going to lose you too.”

Cas feels the guilt from before wash over him, but Sam’s gone a second later, pulling the door shut behind him and blocking out the light. He sits there for a while and stares blankly at the floor. Eventually, he’s mentally exhausted enough that Castiel allows himself to lay down on Dean’s bed.

It’s comfortable, and the smell of Dean on the sheets consoles him enough to quell some of the racing thoughts that threaten to drive Castiel over the edge that he’s been shakily balancing on for the last three months.

The feel of Dean’s sheets beneath his hands is comforting, and the pillow smells of fabric softener and Dean’s shampoo. He clutches at it, fingers digging into the soft cotton, and pulls it closer to his body. His chest aches with the loneliness that comes from missing Dean, and he closes his eyes, hoping that the darkness can ease the pain that curls like thick flames through his body.

Castiel keeps his eyes clenched shut, and tries focusing on the soft cotton that surrounds him. He cannot sleep, but at least for right now, it feels like he can breathe.

 

_Taste_

Their first solid lead comes in the form of an angel named Zuphlas, who tells them that Michael had taken a trip upstairs two weeks earlier to find out information about Hell. In Lucifer and God’s absence, Naomi had returned to her prior position as head of Heaven. Desperate to have an Archangel on Heaven’s side for the first time since Michael left and Castiel had killed Raphael, she had given him the information without hesitation.

Jack had pressed the angel, and eventually Zuphlas told them exactly what Michael had wanted to know. He had asked about Crowley, about Asmodeus and the other princes, and about anyone that could possibly be gunning for the new position as Ruler of Hell since Lucifer’s death.

The information is startling, and confusing, but it’s the first solid lead they’ve had since Michael decided to take Dean’s body for a joy-ride.

The day after, they end up cornering a low level demon in Wichita, and Castiel is the first to get a hard punch to his lower jaw. He wasn’t expecting it, and it knocks him off his game long enough for the demon - in the vessel of a petite girl named Bree - to land another punch across the bridge of his nose.

Blood pours into his mouth and he chokes on the bitter metallic taste. He keeps stumbling backwards, as Sam told him to, until Bree lunges at him. She doesn’t make it far, and looks down only to notice the black Devil’s trap she had inadvertently walked into. She hisses as her blonde hair whips around her face and her eyes turn black.

Sam steps out from behind the abandoned building with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Winchester,” She spits the words almost violently. Sam rolls his eyes, obviously tired of the whole random Demon-Winchester game that’s been going on for the better part of forever.

“Let’s do this quick. No matter what, you’re going to die.” Sam says, explaining this to her as if Bree is a child and not a several hundred year old demon. “You tell us what we want to know and we let you live a little longer. The more helpful you are, the longer you live. If you don’t tell us what we want to know, Cas here smites you.”

Her eyes narrow, sizing Sam up, before she must realize there is no other way out. “I guess it all depends on what do you want to know.” says Bree, crossing her arms and walking to the furthest edge of the trap.

“Why’s Michael so interested in hell?”

Bree’s eyes flick back to them and she tips her head backwards, letting out a sharp, cruel laugh, “The Archangel Michael? You mean the one that’s riding Dean like a pet horse?”

Castiel’s jaw clenches, and the motion causes a new onslaught of blood to flood his mouth. He wipes it with the back of his palm. Sam nods, pulling the Demon blade from his jacket pocket and stepping closer to Bree.

“Hey now,” She says, voice a warning, “I know what Michael’s doing, so keep that thing away from me.”

“Then stop biding your time and tell us, before I kill you and find a new demon that’s a little more willing to chat.”

Castiel’s gaze flicks to Sam. The change that occured in him since Dean’s been gone is startling, but not surprising. His absence has changed the most of them, and none for the better.

“Not only does Michael want to rule Heaven, he wants to be the new King of Hell too.” She says, “He’s trying to take out the competition.”

Castiel steps closer, “Who all has he killed so far?”

“From what I’ve heard, tortured and killed is a better way to put it, and everyone that worked directly under Crowley. I assume his next stop is anyone involved in Lucifer’s reign. Probably the demon that took over when Lucifer was topside.”

Castiel grits his teeth, “A name.”

“Telaem.”

“And where can we find him?”

Bree lets out another laugh, “Didn’t know angels were so sexist. Talaem’s a she, asshole.” She says, “And you can probably find her in Seattle. I heard she’s fond of Lincoln Park.”

Sam’s fingers tighten on the knife as he steps forward. Bree’s eyes flash and she raises her hands in front of her face, “You dick! You said-”

She’s cut off by Sam stabbing the knife through her neck, right below her chin. Her vessel sparks red, and Castiel watches as the demon inside the vessel implodes. Sam pulls the knife out, covered red, and watches as the girl’s lifeless body falls the the ground.

“Let’s go,” Sam tells him and Castiel follows. He’s stopped asking questions at this point.

As they’re walking back to the Impala, Castiel notes, with sadness, the taste in his mouth. Perhaps it’s his continuously melancholy mood, or perhaps he misses Dean enough to make everything about him, but he can’t help but remember the time that he was in this same position. Blood was sharp and like metal in his mouth, only it was caused at the hands of Dean.

The taste is the same, the pain is the same, but it is, somehow, all so different.

  


_Sight_

Unsurprisingly, it's raining when they arrive in Seattle. Castiel sits in the passenger seat of the Impala with Sam driving, while Mary and Jack sit in the back. Rowena, Charlie, and Bobby are all back in Lebanon, with the rest of the people they rescued from the Apocalypse World, surrounded by Charlie’s computers and ready to kick ass. (Apparently eight years of apocalypse isn’t enough for Charlie to forget her hacker skills.)

He thinks back to the last time they tried and succeeded to stop the end of the world. How Dean had showed up at Stull Cemetery, blaring Def Leppard, without a single idea on how the hell he was going to fix the situation Sam had gotten himself in to. Castiel tourching Michael was a last ditch effort, and even that didn’t end well.

Castiel can still recall the feeling of Lucifer - via Sam’s body - disintegrating him and his vessel. He remembers being pieced back together slowly, and then all at once by his father.

And that was what they had willingly signed up for a second time around. But this time it wasn’t Sam riding shotgun with an Archangel behind the wheel, it was Dean, and that Archangel was Michael 2.0. Cas had only briefly met the angel, and yet he wonders if this Michael is not worse than Lucifer. If the apocalypse had made him colder and more dangerous than the already horrendous Michael that Castiel had known.

But his doubt and fear are overruled by one simple fact: it’s Dean. Castiel’s best friend, the man that sacrificed so much for Castiel and for the world. A man that deserves more than anyone can ever comprehend, and if it takes Cas being blown apart on a cosmic level once more for Dean to find his way home, then it’s a task he accepts without the slightest hesitation.

Time and time again, Castiel will always pick Dean first: before Heaven, before his father, even before himself. He doesn’t know what to call the feelings he has for Dean. He doesn’t know if it’s their profound bond - something one tends to have with the man they’ve pulled from the depths of hell and reassembled - or if it’s some sort of brotherly camaraderie, or maybe it’s something even more than that. Maybe there’s something simmering just below Castiel’s skin, hidden in the longing stares and less than subtle hands that linger on Dean’s shoulder. Maybe there’s something in the the way Dean’s eyes occasionally flash to Cas’ lips before returning, nonchalant, to his eyes.

He doesn’t know what kind it is, but he knows he loves Dean and Castiel will die happily a hundred times over if it means that Dean will live.

Finding Telaem is surprisingly easy for a demon, especially one so high up on the food chain. Castiel is drawn to her presence, and he is able to feel the strength of her power as soon as they pull into the city.

They find her, two hours later, sitting on a bench in Lincoln Park and staring blankly at the water. Castiel pulls his angel blade close as he creeps up behind her. He looks at Sam, hidden in the woods behind them, who motions him forward with a nod. Jack is on Telaem’s left side, his angel blade held out in the same position as Cas’.

He nods at Jack - who they had decided would use his powers to freeze her in place as they made the Devil’s trap - and the younger boy raises his free hand.

“That’s quite unnecessary, boys.”

She flicks her hands out, and a second later Castiel and Jack are both sitting on her bench as she stands across from them.

“Telaem,” Castiel says and she smiles. She has a beautiful vessel, although Castiel had expected nothing less. Telaem has long black braids, smooth dark skin, and soft brown eyes under heavily arched brows. The vessel is beautiful, but Telaem herself is not.

When Metatron injected him with the memories of all the books, TV shows, and movies there was one that Castiel found more intriguing than the rest. The book was called _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , and he thinks that that book is an accurate summary of Telaem’s actual demon form. Every horrible, gruesome, cruel thing she did had twisted her face into a terribly dark, painful corpse of its former self.

“I figured you boys would be coming ‘round here soon.” Telaem says, voice silk and like syrup, “Word around town is that your boy’s on a little hunting spree, and I’ve made my way to the top of his list. Or, well, I suppose he’s not really your boy anymore. I’d say Michael owns him now.”

“If you’re going to kill us, can you skip the small talk and do it already?” Castiel says, knowing that while Sam is lurking in the woods behind them, he’s no help against her when she still has her powers.

The confidence in her shoulders despitates a fraction, and she looks significantly less sure of herself as she turns her back to them. She stares out at the ocean, and is quiet in contemplation.

“I am powerful,” Telaem begins, still not facing them, “With Asmodeus, Crowley, and Lucifer dead, I am next to the throne. I am more powerful than any demon that could try and stop me.” She stops speaking and turns back to face Castiel and Jack, “But I am no match against an Archangel.”

Castiel’s brow furrows at her words, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What it means, Feathers, is that I’m not ready to die yet. There is still so much I’ve yet to do. And, in times like these, I’m not above seeking assistance- even if that assistance is a pathetic group of wannabe angel hunters.”

“So you’re willing to help us?” Jack says, mouthing the words slowly like he’s saying them for the first time.

Castiel laughs, bitter and forced, “But, let me guess, there’s a catch?” If being friends with the Winchesters has taught him one thing, it’s cynicism.

“Of course there’s a catch. You’re the one with the halo, after all.” Telaem says, “I’ll be your Michael bait. I pick the building, and you cover the ground just inside with holy oil. I’ll stand inside, and you’ll have no leverage against me. There will be no Devil’s trap, no salt, and no holy water. If you try to pull anything, I’m gone. When Michael shows up, and we both know he will, you light the circle and I leave. I go back to minding my own business and you get your Archangel.”

“And by minding your own business, you mean taking over hell?”

“I don’t want hell. Between Crowley, Lucifer, and Asmodeus, Hell is, well, Hell. Just because I’m next up for the throne, doesn’t mean I want it.” Telaem casts her gaze back over her shoulder, towards the water, “Like I said, I have better things to do.”

Castiel looks at Jack, only to find the boy looking back at him. He knows with every ounce of his body that making a deal with Telaem is the worst idea possible. He knows that she’s going to screw them over somehow or someway. But it’s the best option they’ve got. Really, it’s the only option they’ve got.

“So?” She asks.

He looks at Jack once more, and lets the worry and panic and guilt build in his chest until it feels overpowering and all consuming.

And then, he says, “Yes.”

/

None of them are happy with the plan, Sam liking it the least, but they can all acknowledge that it’s the best chance they have. That night, the four of them huddle around the small table in their hotel room, and work through the final pieces of the plan.

In the end it is decided. Mary will lay the holy oil down and be in charge of lighting the flame, while Castiel puts up angel signals to hide himself from Michael. Jack will be inside, on standby, in case Telaem or Michael try anything, and Castiel and Sam will be at opposites of the circle, in charge of getting Dean to expel him.

At this point, their only hope is that Dean is still looming near the surface of consciousness. That Michael hasn’t tucked him far enough away that he can’t hear them. Their only hope is that Dean can hear them, hear their pleading, and is able to eject Michael from his body.

Telaem picks an abandoned microbrewery for the building, and they arrive with plenty of time to lay the oil and get prepared. As Mary and Jack lay the oil around the inside edge of the building, Castiel speaks with Sam.

“Do you think this will work?” He asks, needing the hear those words from a Winchester, so he doesn’t completely lose faith in this plan, so he doesn’t completely lose faith in Dean.

“Of course it will, Cas. And if it doesn’t, we’ll figure it out, we always do.” Sam replies, reaching out to lay a heavy hand on Cas’ shoulder.

It’s not Dean, but it’s Dean’s words, and for right now that’s enough.

They don’t know when to expect Michael, so they get in position. Castiel is ready to wait days for him if that’s what it takes. In a somewhat lucky turn of events, it’s nearing the 8th hour of waiting when Telaem freezes and her eyes flash black.

“Michael.” She says as a greeting, words loud enough for Mary to hear outside. Castiel, hidden behind one of the doors outside the ring of oil, finally sees him.

Castiel had thought that seeing his brothers and sisters die was bad. He had thought seeing Dean turn into a demon was bad. He had thought watching Lucifer possess Sam was bad.

But there was nothing that could have prepared him for this.

On the surface it’s Dean. It’s been four months now, so there are obvious differences about his appearance, but it’s the same Dean. There is the same curve in his nose from when he broke it hunting a ghoul in Louisiana as a kid, the pouty arch of his cupid’s bow, and the ever present crease in between his brow.

But then there are things so unlike Dean, that it reminds Castiel that this isn’t the man he knows.

The black dress shoes, the slim cut dress pants, the black vest and white shirt, and the red tie are all things Dean would never be caught dead in. Castiel notices it in the way he walks. How it’s confident to a fault, both leisurely and uptight, like he’s in no rush whatsoever but somehow still thinks you’re wasting his time. It’s so different from the way Dean walks, fast paced and like he’s on a mission.

He reaches up to pull his hat off and lets it drop on one of the manufacturing tables. Dean’s hair is longer now, parted and gelled in such an unnatural way that it makes Castiel cringe.

He can see beyond Dean, can see Michael’s eternal being glowing white hot inside the vessel. He’s beautiful, as can be expected, but he is nothing in comparison to the beauty of the vessel he’s in. Castiel focuses his eyes on Dean, as he tries not to feel ill at the grace that forces itself from Dean’s body.

It’s unfair to have the man he needs so close, but to know that it’s not him. Dean’s body is right there, so close that Castiel could reach out and touch him, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be him.

He has to keep repeating that sentence to himself.

“You were expecting me,” Dean says, but it’s not Dean. The voice is monotone, not quite as harsh as Dean’s, and the words fall off his tongue almost unnaturally- like he’s never spoken a sentence aloud before, only ever reading the words in his head.

Telaem snorts, “When an Archangel from an apocalypse world uses a Winchester as a vessel and starts killing demons, one tends to hear things.”

Michael laughs, and it sounds almost as unnatural as his words, “Then I suppose we shouldn’t waste my time with pleasantries. You will die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I will kill you.”

Castiel feels sick at Michael’s words, spewed so carelessly through Dean’s mouth, and motions from his position to Sam. The younger Winchester nods, and turns to motion to Mary, who waits - hidden - by the open door.

“Okay.” Telaem says, and then she’s gone. A second later, there’s the flick of a match and then the flames are spreading surrounding Dean-Michael in their center.

For the most part, Michael looks surprised. However, as Castiel steps out from behind the door, the surprise softens into amusement. Michael walks forward and comes to the edge of the flame, his lips twisted into a satisfied smirk.

Michael raises his hands and starts, very slowly, clapping.

“Well if it isn’t the vessel’s pet angel. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up. Dean here had some nasty things to say about you.”

He almost stops at that but knows Michael’s playing him.

“Dean!” He says, voice loud, “I know you’re in there.” He’s barely trying to hide the pleading in his voice as he speaks, “Dean, listen to me. You have to fight this. You have to expel Michael from your body.”

“Dean can’t hear you. It’s sweet though that you came all this way to see me, though. So how about this, you stomp out your little campfire here, and I’ll smite you really quick. Make it painless.”

“Please Dean, you have to listen to me. Sam and your mom need you, and Jack needs you, and I need you. Remember when I was under Naomi’s mind control? Remember what you said to me? We’re family, Dean, and right now your family needs you. Okay? I miss you and I need you, and I love you.” Castiel says, voice begging as he stares into Michael’s unblinking eyes.

“Wow. You love him? You, an angel, loves this despicable, self loathing douchebag? Castiel, what would dad think? And teaming up with the demon that’s trying to replace Lucifer? I’d say he’d be disappointed.”

He knew that Telaem was going to double cross them, so the fact that she actually is gunning for Ruler of Hell isn’t a surprise, but the rest of Michael’s words make Castiel seethe. He’s about to cross that fire and punch Michael in his perfect face, when he hears the flap of wings. He turns, quicker than his assailant, and blocks the incoming angel blade with his forearm.

“Looks like my backup’s here.” Michael says, sounding too pleased with himself.

Cas wishes he was more surprised by the owner of the blade.

He wrenches Naomi’s arm, sending the blade flying on the ground. She backhands him, barely dodging the stab of his blade. There’s two more flaps of angel wings and then Jack is beside him, his own blade positioned in his long fingers.

Castiel sees Sam and Mary, both fighting off a single angel, and turns back to Naomi. She at least has the decency to look somewhat apologetic before she kicks him hard in the knee and then elbows him in the nose.

In the struggle, she somehow manages to get him pressed up against the door with her angel blade pressed against his throat.

He watches over her shoulder, in horror, as an angel gets the jump on Jack. Instead of killing him, though, the angel rushes towards the circle and pours a bottle of water on the outermost edge of the flames.

Naomi’s blade begins to cut, slicing into the thin flesh of his neck, but the sound of Sam shoving a blade through the angel he was fighting pierces the room. When she startles, she hesitates for a fraction too long and Castiel manages to flip the blade, and shove it through the undermost part of her chin and up through her mouth. He looks away as her grace dies, blinding him with its light.

Cas looks over and watches as Michael advances on Jack, angel blade positioned in his hand and ready to strike. Castiel tries to scream, knowing he can’t reach them in time, and watches as confusion flickers across Dean’s face. He squints at Jack, before raising the blade and shoving it through his own bicep.

Dean’s head tilts back, and there’s a bright light escaping from his mouth- not the dying of grace, but the release of it.

A second later, Dean falls to the ground, his body hitting the floor just beside Jack, angel blade still shoved through his left arm.

Castiel ignores the dead angels that litter the ground of the warehouse and runs to Dean. He approaches Dean’s unconscious body and reaches down, relief coursing through him as he feels Dean’s heartbeat against his finger.

 

_+1_ _The Five Senses_

Castiel and Jack move away from Sam and Mary as they whisper quietly over Dean’s body. He feels as though this is a private family moment, and knows Dean will want to see them first when he wakes up.  (He also doesn’t really want to watch them pull the blade from Dean’s arm, although he will offer to heal him later.)

Jack looks younger now, the worry and cynicism gone from his eyes, replaced with glee and exhaustion. He pulls the young boy into a hug and relaxes as Jack drops his head to the front of Castiel’s chest. While not physically true, Jack is like his son. He had promised his mother he would watch him, raise him, protect him, and he’s glad that - for once - they seem to have a win in their book.

Castiel hears Sam’s sharp scoff and turns around to look at the three Winchesters. He sees Dean, finally awake, with his arms wrapped tight around his brother and mother. Castiel releases Jack and steps a foot closer to the family. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he’s missed Dean so much. It’s like Dean’s body - Dean’s soul - is a magnet. Like it’s reeling him in. Dean pulls away from his family and Castiel clears his throat. Dean looks up, eyes widening, and relief courses through every vein, bone, and organ in Cas’ body.

Dean lets Sam pull him to his feet on shaky legs, “Son of a bitch,” He grumbles, looking down at his own hands and, no doubt, cursing the outfit Michael had put him in.

Castiel can’t explain the relief he feels as he watches Dean - no Michael, just Dean - walk towards him. Dean reaches him, not hesitating at all to pull Castiel’s body against his own. Dean’s hands fist in the back of his trench coat, pulling Cas further against him. It’s so unlike the rest of their manly bro “two taps on the back” hugs, that Castiel’s chest hurts. He grips the dark suit jacket Dean’s wearing and shoves his face into the junction where his shoulder and neck meet.

Dean smells of sweat and unfamiliar cologne and there has never been anything that smells as sweet. The soft lines of Dean’s back are familiar as Castiel clutches him closer, pulling until every part of their bodies are touching.

“God Cas, I missed you.” Dean says, voice deep and husky and so heartwarmingly familiar that Castiel thinks he could cry.

He pulls back enough to look at Dean, and sees the same shining in his green eyes reflected back at Cas. It makes him smile, “I missed you too.”

Dean pulls him back in for another hug and Castiel clenches his eyes shut.

It’s not perfect. Dean’s got a hole the size of an angel blade in his arm and is bleeding profusely from the wound. Cas can tell it hurts by the way his left arm doesn’t squeeze half as hard as the right. Michael is still out there, alive and no doubt circling another vessel. There’s a new up-and-comer for Ruler of Hell, and once again Castiel has no idea what he’s supposed to do about it.

Things are not perfect but Dean is alive and he is here, his warm body pressed in a hard line against Cas’.

He watches over Dean’s shoulder as Sam talks to Jack, and Mary smiles softly at the two of them.

It’s not perfect, but he’s not alone anymore.

Castiel lets the taste of the bittersweet victory roll over his tongue, and focuses on the feeling of Dean’s body against his own.


	2. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you even believe that szn 14 premieres tonight? I’m so freaking excited.

_ \+ Dean  _

Dean’s sitting at his mother’s kitchen table, laughing over a can of beer as Sam tells them a ridiculous story about Stanford. Jessica sits next to Sam, and her hand is resting on the top of his thigh. 

“And so Brady got arrested and I had to bail him out!” Sam says, laughing so hard that his voice is slightly wheezy and there are tears slipping from his eyes. 

“You should have seen how pissed Sam was when he got the call.” Jessica says, sitting her glass down on the table, “It was the middle of the night, but as soon as the cops explained what happened he started laughing almost as hard as he is now.”

Dean smiles at Sam and his girlfriend before taking another long swig from his can. John just shakes his head from where he sits beside Sam. “I can’t even imagine. I know how pissy Sam used to be when we’d wake him up early to go fishing.”

“He actually punched me once.” Dean tells them, smiling even harder when it earns him an annoyed glare from his younger brother. 

Sam sighs, “Not my fault you thought jumping on my bed was a good way to wake me up.”

Dean chokes out a laugh, glancing up as his mother emerges from the kitchen. 

“Here you go, Sweetie,” She says, sitting a plate of freshly baked pecan pie in front of him as she touches his cheek lightly. He smiles and leans into her motherly touch. The pie looks like Heaven. Dean can feel the heat radiating off it, and can see the steam rising into the air. 

Mary sits down in the chair next to Dean, pulling her hand away from him and letting John intertwine their fingers.

Dean takes a bite of the pie, and lets out a moan at the taste of warm pecan that fills his mouth. He glances up as Sam lets out another deep laugh, and watches as John’s eyes roll back into his head with the force of his own laugh. 

This is a perfect moment, and being here - surrounded by family - Dean should be happy. He should feel full and complete, but it’s like there’s half of him missing. A section of his heart torn away, thrown away, and he has no idea what’s missing or how he can get it back. 

He figures that maybe he’s just feeling like a fifth wheel, with his mom and dad, and Sam and Jess. Dean guesses that he’s just lonely and wanting to seek out a relationship like the members of his family have. Someone to hold his hand under the table, kiss him on the cheek, and laugh wholeheartedly at his terrible jokes. 

But there’s nothing to be done about it at the present moment, so he takes another bite of his mother’s pie and lets the butter crust fall apart on his tongue, melted pecan filling sweet enough to make him moan again. 

After finishing his pie and beer, Dean decides to call it a night and heads up to his bedroom. Both himself and Sam had come back home for their college spring break, and Dean’s never been happier with the choice he made. There’s something about being back in his childhood home with his mom, dad, and little brother that offers him a soothing comfort he didn’t know he needed. 

Dean strips off his old AC/DC shirt and jeans, swapping them for a pair of sweatpants and his favorite Wichita State t-shirt. He climbs into his bed, forgoing the lamp on his bedside table, and snuggles further under the blanket. 

The room smells of his mother’s lavender perfume and laundry detergent- a homemade kind that she always buys from the elderly lady next door. 

He stares blank at the ceiling and tries to push away the growing intensity that crawls up his stomach. It feels like he’s forgetting something, something very important, and with a time limit. He feels like there’s something he needs to do. Like there’s something that needs to be done before he runs out of time. 

But he doesn’t know what it is.

He runs through his class schedule, trying to figure out what hell could be making him feel this way. 

He’s finished his project for  Biomechanics, already turned in the five page paper due in Manufacturing System Design, and his test in Calculus isn’t for another month. His brow furrows as he runs through anything else he could be missing. He told George he was taking the week off work, and spoke to Alex about missing the meeting for their Led Zeppelin listening club. 

There’s nothing he’s missing, nothing he’s forgetting, and yet the insistent ache in his chest and stomach won’t dissipate. 

He assures himself that he probably just drank more than he thought, curls further into himself - closes his eyes - and tries to let the knot in his chest loosen up. 

/

“Dean!” 

He sits up in bed with a start. Dean looks around, frantically, the worn walls of his childhood bedroom immediately cluing him in on where he is. He takes a deep breath and tries to assess what woke him up. He rubs his eyes, focusing on the Robert Plant poster by the side of his bed, when he hears the same voice from before.

“Dean, I know you’re in there.” The voice is so familiar, the careful enunciation of the ‘you’re’ and the way the voice rolls over Dean’s name. 

He climbs out of bed and moves towards the TV on the wall opposite of his bed. He hasn’t turned it on since he’s been home, but now there is something strange playing. 

The feed is fuzzy, just the beginnings of an image clear enough for him to see, but the picture is still too blurry to make out. 

“Dean, listen to me. You have to fight this.” The voice says, a man, and the feeling in Dean’s chest from before curls tight. He leans forward, bringing his face closer to the screen. 

The more he focuses on the voice, concentrates on the familiarity, the clearer the image becomes. Dean considers, for a moment, that this might be the weirdest dream of his life. 

“You have to expel him from your body.” 

The image finally clears enough for Dean to get a good look at the man talking. He’s handsome with messy dark hair and piercing blue eyes. The man’s wearing a khaki trench coat, and the sight of him breaks the last tendril of discomfort in Dean’s chest. 

He doesn’t know how, but he knows this man. 

The man looks discouraged, but then he speaks again, “Please Dean, you have to listen to me. Sam and your mom need you, and Jack needs you, and I need you.”

He lets the man’s voice wash over him, calming him, and secretly hopes he keeps speaking. Thankfully, the man does, “Remember when I was under Naomi’s mind control? Remember what you said to me? We’re family, Dean, and right now your family needs you.” 

Dean doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and the words feel right but empty, like he’s still missing something big. The man in the trench coat’s eyes stare unblinkingly into the screen, “Okay? I miss you and I need you, and I love you.”

He doesn’t know who this man is, but his heart is telling him that he loves him too. 

Suddenly, the trench coat man’s eyes are ablaze and he looks like he’s about to send a fist plummeting through the screen, but then there’s movement behind him, and a lady with cropped grey hair appears. 

She raises her arm, long metal knife in hand, and swings it downwards. Dean flinches, unable and unwilling to watch this man die, but he turns at the last second and blocks it with his hand. 

The blade goes flying and a second later, there is another person (a kid, Dean thinks) next to the man in the trench coat, his own blade positioned in hand. 

He watches, rapt with attention, as the man and child fight the woman. Another angel advances on the little one, and in the time it takes Dean to look back, the woman has the man in the trench coat against the wall, blade pressed against his throat. 

The angel doesn’t kill the young one, instead runs closer towards Dean. He says something Dean can’t hear, and then Dean is the one moving forward. Well, Dean’s not actually moving. It’s like someone has a camera and is live threading the feed to his TV. 

He advances on the younger boy, but Dean’s attention is on the man in the trench coat. The lady shoves the knife forward, slicing into the man’s neck, and a scream forces itself from Dean’s throat, “Cas!”

It all happens in a second, so close together he can’t tell what order it happened it. He sees the man twist the blade and shove it through the lady’s jaw. There’s a blinding white light, and then at once, the memories come flooding back to him: Azazel, mom, Hell, Sam, Bobby, the apocalypse, Lucifer and Michael. 

Castiel. 

The man looks up as if Dean had called his name and shouts something, desperate, that Dean can’t make out. 

He reaches out to thumb the TV screen in front of him, and then he blinks and Dean is no longer in his childhood room. 

He’s back in his body, in some abandoned warehouse, holding an angel blade and two seconds away from killing Jack. He’s back in control for the time being, but can feel Michael behind him, trying desperately to shove Dean back into the corner of happiness he’d been in before. He has a risky plan, but hopes it can be enough to weaken the angel and drive a wedge between Michael and Dean’s body. 

His fingers tighten on the angel blade and he lifts it, bypassing Jack, and stabbing it harshly into the meat of his left arm. 

The pain courses through his body and he stumbles on his feet, feeling Michael scream in pain inside him. He uses the pain and the fear to force Michael’s grace from him. He feels Michael’s essence leave him at once, and then he’s falling forward onto his knees as the darkness collapses around him. 

When Dean wakes up, the first thing he notices is the agonizing pain in his arm. The memories catch up to him pretty quickly, and the second he opens his eyes, Sam and his mom are there. He takes one look at Sam, and can’t help the pained laugh that falls from his lips. “What the hell’s on your face?”

Sam scoffs, his laugh almost as broken as Dean feels, and then his mother and brother are pulling him into a hug. There is no longer a blade in his arm, so he assumes one of them had removed it while he was out. Dean relaxes into their embrace, ignoring the throb in his arm, and lets them hug him. 

He doesn’t know how long they’re like that, but then there’s the soft clearing of a throat and Dean looks past them. Castiel is standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his trench coat. 

Dean lets Sam pull him up, unsteady on his legs. “Son of a bitch,” He says. Dean doesn’t know how long he’s been gone, but based on everyone’s faces, he’s going to assume it’s been awhile.

He walks forward and pulls Castiel against him the second the angel is in reach, ignoring the sharp pain in his arm as he crashes them together. There are no pretenses here. He’s not worried about what Sam or Jack or his mom thinks. He just needs to feel Castiel against him, to know that Cas is safe and that it’s okay. 

He curls his hands into the fabric of Cas’ coat and lets a relieved sigh fall from his lips. Castiel smells like honey and the Bunker, and it feels like home.

“God Cas, I missed you.” He says, voice a little more emotional than he had been hoping. 

“I missed you too.” Cas’ words are a quiet whisper against his neck and Dean pulls away to look into the angel’s eyes. They stare at each other for a moment before Dean pulls him back into a hug, even closer this time. Cas’ hands tangle in the ridiculous costume-esque outfit Michael had chosen, and Dean closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t even know how long it’s been, but his heart aches at the touch and smell of the other angel, and he realizes that even though he was happy in the dream world Michael had thrown him in, his body had known something was missing. His heart had known Castiel was missing, even when his brain didn’t. 

And all it took was Castiel, desperate and pleading and in danger, to knock him out of the fantasy.

Dean presses his nose against the angel’s hair, smelling the familiar scent he hadn’t known he’d missed. 

There are so many things he wants to say, things he wants to ask, and things he wants to do, but Dean holds his tongue. They have a lot of work to do, but for right now this is enough. 

Not forever, but for now, Castiel’s body warm against his own is enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Can y'all believe how close we are to the season 14 premiere?? That video literally blew my mind; I can't wait to see Michael-Dean :) 
> 
> come say hi on my tumblr: lasciviouspeach


End file.
